


Perfect Sky

by haloeverlasting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bed & Breakfast, Depressed Louis, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past minor character death, also don't let louis/omc scare you it's all past tense, but not between our friends Marcel and Louis of course, lol i know that tag looks at out place but i promise you this fic is Ridiculously fluffy, marcel - Freeform, only one and it's brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/pseuds/haloeverlasting
Summary: Deep, deep down, Louis knows Niall hadn’t meant to do this. He knows that this really was a last minute conundrum Louis had found himself in. Louis could’ve muddled the dates just as easily as Niall could have misremembered them. This hurts for other, more difficult reasons.This hurts because it was supposed to be Louis’ honeymoon.Louis meets Marcel at the lowest point of his life. A few poorly timed jokes, and a cigarette (or twelve) later, Louis starts to think love’s not a sham after all.





	Perfect Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyLondonderry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/gifts).



> This little work is for the lovely [Emmi](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com). Happy (very belated) birthday to you! <3 
> 
> Thank you to [Sus](lululawrence.tumblr.com) for being such a great cheerlearder, and huge thanks to [Jacky](http://dimpled-halo.tumblr.com), [Della](http://iamasphodelknox.tumblr.com) for your encouragement and beta work. 
> 
> Emmi I hope you love this as much as I love you!

The first thing Louis notices when he travels from the airport to his Uber is that it’s raining. It’s hard not to notice a downpour, but he’s just dazed enough from the flight and his general depression that it takes a moment to register the reason he’s getting wet. His Uber driver is an older woman, and when she calls out a quick hello, Louis thinks she just _might_ have a cigarette. He could use one.

He shakes his head, trying to come to his senses. He squints, hoping to look a little beyond the fog in front of his eyes. He told himself he wouldn’t go there again.

“Hi,” he finally replies. “I’ve, erm—here’s the address.”

Louis hands her a small slip of paper and settles into the corner of the backseat. He feels rude. It’s not like him to sit in the back of an Uber and stare out the rain spotted window forlornly. He’s usually the type to sit in the front and make friends. Now, he’s sitting, arms crossed with his backpack nestled in his lap, and if his body language wasn’t closed off enough, the scowl that’s taken residence on his face is likely to ward off anyone who didn’t get the hint before.

He wasn’t supposed to take this trip alone, is the thing. He had reached out to Niall the night before to finalize their plans and was met with his voicemail. Louis hadn’t thought anything of it until he got a call back a few hours later. Niall had explained to him that he was _so_ sorry, but that he just _couldn’t_ get it off of work because he had requested the wrong dates off. He _begged_ for Louis’ forgiveness and reminded him that he really didn’t need to go at all.

Louis had rolled his eyes so hard he’d thought they were going to fall out of their sockets. He’d groaned and grunted and made every noise of disapproval he could think of before hanging up the phone with a bitter, “Fine.” He even punched his pillow afterwards for good measure. Nothing did the trick. Louis had been so _angry_ with him. Niall promised him he wasn’t on his own. And now look at him. Completely, one-hundred-percent alone and miserable.

Deep, _deep_ down, Louis knows Niall hadn’t meant to do this. He knows that this really was a last minute conundrum Louis had found himself in. Louis could’ve muddled the dates just as easily as Niall could have misremembered them. This hurts for other, more difficult reasons.

This hurts because it was supposed to be Louis’ honeymoon. 

Louis grips the bag in his lap a little tighter when the memory washes over him for the millionth time since it happened. He was wearing his expensive tailored suit, had just led his mum to a dressing room before joining his fiance, Greg, for their first look photos. He felt so _good_. So light and airy and ready. Truthfully, he and Greg didn’t have a penny to their names, but that didn’t stop Louis from forking over all the tip money he had for a fitted suit. He felt like a million bucks.

That is until he opened the door to the auditorium. There, at the end of the aisle—the same aisle Louis was supposed to walk in a couple of _hours_ —was Greg, and his childhood best friend Mark. Louis hadn’t meant to remember every detail. He hadn’t meant to take a mental picture of his fiance with his tongue in another man’s mouth, and his hand cupping another man’s arse. He _really_ didn’t mean to remember the noises they both elicited, even after Louis had opened the large door.

The moments following Louis’ discovery were the worst of his life. Needless to say, there wasn’t a wedding.

There was, however, still a booked stay at a bed and breakfast in Cheshire. The flight was expensive, and they’d paid up front for a week long stay. Louis had officially wasted all of his savings on a wedding that didn’t happen. There was no way he could do the same for the honeymoon.

This would all be fine if Niall was here. Louis wouldn’t feel so fucking stormy if Niall was here to pump him full of Guinness and make him laugh like he didn’t have his world flipped on it’s axis only a few weeks ago.

The thunder cracks loudly outside, and Louis jumps a little in his seat. He remembers his circumstance seconds later when he sees the quaint house on a hill approaching. The weight of his heavy heart feels like it’s sagging on all of his vital organs. It hurts everywhere. This isn’t what this moment was supposed to be at all.

Louis probably shouldn’t have had that third mimosa on the plane. Without his friends, alcohol really is the depressant everyone says it is. Whatever buzz he had left swimming through his blood stream has dissipated when the car stops and he’s left to approach a week alone in this house. Maybe he can get this Uber to take him to the shop for some more alcohol after he checks in. He can drink until he passes out. He’ll call Niall and make him feel even worse.

“You okay, kid?”

Louis coughs and shuffles a little before looking up at his driver’s concerned eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Fine, yeah.”

“Alright. Well, we’re here. Don’t forget to leave a positive review.”

“Of course,” Louis nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He takes his backpack and leaves the car. The ground is soaking wet, and he knows whether he runs or walks, he’s going to get mud caked all over his favorite vans. He sighs before deciding to make a run for it anyway. It feels like the right decision until he hits a patch of mud that seems to suction his foot in and he trips.

Here, on the dirty ground, outside of this godforsaken bed and breakfast, is where Louis dies. At least, he wishes that were the case. He thinks about it a second, just lying here face down until the mud sucks him in like the piece of shit he is. It’s that line of thinking that makes Louis push himself off the ground anyway. He has a point to prove—to himself, to Greg, even to Niall that he can get through this. Some separation is good. Lying face first in the mud is just… another life experience that separates him from his failed nuptials, right?

He walks up the rickety wooden stairs and dusts himself off. Really all he ends up doing is rubbing the mud around. He sighs and opens the front door. A small bell rings as he does so and a second later he hears a soft gasp from a few feet away.

Louis looks up to find… someone unexpected. This man looks way too young to own a bed and breakfast. Maybe he’s an employee? Louis thinks he remembers that the website had mentioned that the owner lived there. He would have to be the only employee. There weren’t any photos that he could remember either so, maybe?

Either way, he doesn’t look the type. He’s wearing a full suit, with pleated trousers, and a tweed suit jacket. He’s got thick rimmed glasses, and his hair is slicked back. He looks like he’s come straight from a Halloween party, only it’s April, and just from the look of genuine concern on the other man’s face, Louis would guess that he’s very sincere.

“Oh goodness,” he mutters, turning a full circle behind the desk in a tizzy before scurrying to the front door. “I’m Marcel. You must be with the Hoover party?”

Louis winces a little involuntarily. “Um, yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he says, growing more concerned. He comes back around the desk and pencils something in before he turns to survey the wall of keys behind him. He brings a hand to his chin and strokes lightly before reaching for the pair.

“Aha!”

Louis jolts a little at the sudden sound, and Marcel turns back around to hand Louis a set of keys.

“I’m so sorry about the mess outside. Allow me to upgrade you to the largest room I have. It’s really the least I can do.”

Louis doesn’t know why his knee jerk reaction is anger and irritation, but before he can stop himself, he snaps. “What, did _you_ make it rain today?”

Marcel visibly withers, “Oh, well, I, erm—”

“Nevermind, mate.” Louis snarls. “Can you just… show me to the room please.”

Marcel nods quickly and wrings his hands a little as he steps in front of Louis to lead the way. He takes him up the stairs and down the hall. Louis notices how dated and old the carpet is. It’s something Greg would have loved. Louis tries not to pay attention to much else, in case that very thought crosses his mind again.

“May I see your key, please?”

Louis hands it over. Why he even offered it to Louis in the first place is beyond him. If he didn’t trust him to open a fucking door on his own, why not just keep it until they reached the door?

 _God_ , Louis needs a cigarette. He needs to run a bath and smoke straight through a pack. Maybe have a good cry.

“So, this door is a little tricky. But if you jiggle the key just right, it won’t give you much trouble at all.” Marcel demonstrates with shaky hands. Louis wonders if that’s his fault. “It’s unlocking that’s the problem. I’ve never had an issue locking it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Louis nods. “Got it.”

“Alright Mr. Hoover—”

“It’s Tomlinson.” Louis snaps.

“Oh…” Marcel blanches, “I thought, erm…”

“Sorry.” Louis says quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m being a dick. Just… call me Louis, okay?”

Marcel’s lips quirk and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before extending his hand for another handshake. Louis tries to stamp down his irritation and accepts it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Louis. Dinner will be ready at seven. I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Louis nods his thanks and steps into the suite. It’s beautiful, but the part Louis finds himself marvelling at first is the gigantic four post bed in the center of the room. It has a fucking _canopy_ and is sitting on top of an elaborate rug. The good news is that he has all of that to himself.

The bad news is that he has _all_ of that to _himself._

He heads to the en suite next to draw a bath. He’s relieved to find a towel sitting in the bathroom. He really hadn’t come prepared at all. Louis’ just glad he remembered his toothbrush and enough underwear.

He doesn’t waste any time removing his clothes, tossing them to the floor. He steps into the white porcelain bath while the water’s still running. The water is just hot enough to sting, and Louis revels in it as it rises, covering every inch of him. Once it reaches his midsection he turns the cold water up a little bit to cool it down to a more comfortable temperature. The water is already filthy from the dirt coating his hands and forearms, but after some scrubbing it’s still a relief to be rid of it.

Once the tub is filled nearly to the brim Louis sinks back so the water covers up him to his neck. He inhales, long and deep, eyes raised to the very high ceiling. When his mind starts wandering to how well this tub would fit two, he’s reminded of the other important part of this plan. Louis harrumphs a minute and debates getting out of the tub to find his cigarettes. He’d have to wet and dirty his towel before he was done soaking. Or he could just shake it off and hurry to his bag and back?

He decides on the latter. Standing quickly and shivering when the cold air hits his wet skin. As heavy water droplets from his hair and otherwise make a clear trail on the hardwood floors, Louis realizes how tragically flawed this plan is. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Louis zips open his bag and reaches for the pack of cigarettes at the top. He comes up empty handed. Or rather, with a wad of his clothes. Louis furrows his brow and starts removing his belongings. They must have fallen to the bottom of the bag. He curses under his breath, all of his belongings are getting wet, and Louis’ still not finding them. Determined, he searches in all the random side pockets he’s never bothered to use before. He unzips every section his bag has to offer and when he comes up empty, Louis feels overcome with agony.

He’s naked, on the floor of his fucking honeymoon suite, dripping wet all over his things, and hasn’t even a lowly cigarette to help him lick his wounds. Louis’ vision starts to go spotty and he sinks even lower to  the floor. This is it. This is rock bottom.

He shouldn’t have come. He should have just let the money waste away and had a good cry at Niall’s flat. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go. Greg had claimed the studio they shared. Louis had stayed at his mum’s until the day of his flight, but he can’t stay there long term.

He grimaces as he pulls himself up from the floor. Louis can’t actually see much further in front of him, and for a split second he realizes how labored his breathing has become. This has happened before. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. What _is_ unfamiliar is not having a pair of arms to climb into. No one to rub his back and tell him he’s fine, he’s safe, just a little heartbroken.

He thinks of calling Niall, or his mum, or anyone just so he doesn’t have to be by himself right now. But he’s got no clue where his phone even _is_. It’s somewhere in all of his things, tossed across the floor, but he can’t focus long enough to really look.

He climbs onto the bed, and tries to use the trick his mum taught him. He counts to five on each inhale, counts to five on each exhale. He hiccups a little in between, but after several minutes he feels it getting less difficult. He thinks he just might have gotten through this on his own. Maybe. He doesn’t stay awake long enough to find out.

When Louis wakes up, it’s to a light knock on the door. He’s alarmed until he gains his bearings, remembers where he is, why he’s naked and alone on this canopy bed.

Shit, he’d left the tub full last night hadn’t he?

Louis sits up and rubs his eyes. He takes a deep, labored breath and lets his palms slide down his face. He feels exhausted.

He recalls the knock on the door and looks up at it. There’s something on the floor, and Louis stretches his limbs before getting up to grab it.

It’s a small slip of paper with a cartoon piece of bacon on it. It’s wearing a tophat, and has a cane. Louis can’t help the amused smile that spreads across his face. Beside the little cartoon is a caption that says _Don’t go Bacon my heart. Breakfast is served at 8._

Louis grins. It feels weird on his face. He doesn’t feel like he’s smiled at much of anything the last few weeks. Even before his wedding day, the stress of last minute wedding planning had weighed on him. A good pun has never been so well received by him.

There’s a giant clock mounted on the wall beside the door, across from the bed, and Louis startles at the time. It’s already 8:30. He better get down there before the other guests finish it all. He’s starving.

He goes through all of his belongings, stuffing most of it back into his bag before selecting a pair of skinny jeans and an old t-shirt to wear downstairs. He finds his phone at the bottom of the pile and sees several messages from his mum, a few from Niall, and one from Liam. All of them inquiring about his arrival and wellbeing. He has half a mind to ignore them, but instead decides he at least owes them all a quick “I’m here, I’m fine.”

Louis leaves his room and  decides not to lock it behind him. He doesn’t think anyone here is going to mess with his things, and he hadn’t been listening the night before when Marcel showed him the specifics of unlocking it. He leaves with a shrug, and actually hurries down the grand staircase, running his fingertips along the elaborately carved banister as he goes.

He turns around the corner and finds the desk where he’d met Marcel the night before is abandoned. It’s very quiet, and Louis wonders if everyone is just eating in silence or something. Even then, it’s too quiet. He wonders if these walls bear a lonely history, at least that’s the vibe they’re giving off. Or maybe Louis is just trying to step outside of his own misery for a while—project that loneliness onto something else.

When he rounds the corner to what he hopes is the dining room, he’s confronted with the loneliest sight he’s ever seen. At the head of a giant dining table sits Marcel, pushing his scrambled eggs about on his plate, with a pouted face resting in his palm.

“Um, hi,” Louis says.

Marcel actually jumps a little in his seat, fork clattering against his plate. A second later, he smiles so wide, these dimples Louis hadn’t noticed before show up.

“Hi!” He beams, standing from his seat. “Are you hungry? Oh, you must be starving. You missed dinner last night. Please, let me fix you something. Do you like eggs? Pancakes? Or do you prefer toast?”

Louis feels his insides squirm a little at the attention. Marcel seems completely focused on him, even bothering to pull out the seat just beside him.

He taps it a few times, “Please, have a seat Mr. erm… Louis. Let me take care of the rest.”

He grins at Louis like he’s the Messiah, finally arrived after decades of waiting. Louis tries to smile back, but he’s a little overwhelmed.

“I was led to believe there’d be bacon?” he asks, aiming for a joke. The way Marcel’s face falls leads him to believe it’s fallen short.

“I can make some.” Marcel brings a hand to the back of his neck, “Honestly, I should have thought about that. Of course you’d believe that based on… Oh, well. Have a seat I’ll go—”

“It’s really okay,” Louis amends. “I was joking.”

Marcel exhales quickly, relief written across his face. He chuckles half heartedly, “Yes, of course you were.”

Louis frowns and takes a few steps toward Marcel. He extends a hand, and goes to explain when Marcel furrows his brow, confused.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. Hello, I’m Louis. You’ve really outdone yourself here.”

Marcel doesn’t quite understand. He extends a hand in return anyway, and shakes Louis’ hand the third time in twenty four hours. Third time’s the charm, right?

“And you are?” Louis prompts.

“Oh! Marcel!”

Louis smiles, “It’s lovely to meet you Marcel. I hope you’ll allow me another chance. I was a right dick last night. That’s not… like me.”

Marcel smiles, and Louis can see him hesitate just before he nods. In his eyes, there’s a hint of how he might have hurt him the night before.

“So pancakes? Toast?”

“Pancakes would be great.” Louis smiles. “Can I help with anything?”

Marcel beams, “Absolutely not. Oh! Do you have any food allergies?”

Louis shakes his head, “Not a one.”

“Excellent. You have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

Louis does as he’s told and leans back in his chair. The dining room is as gorgeous as the rest of the house, but Louis can’t really appreciate it. He’s a little preoccupied with a nagging little concern. Why is Marcel all alone in this giant house? Why is Louis the only guest here?

Marcel returns quickly, a plate filled to its edges with food. Louis hasn’t had a full meal in… a while, so the sight of so much food at once makes him feel a little ill. He smiles anyway and accepts it. He only hopes Marcel won’t be offended if he can’t stomach it all.

Marcel takes his seat and places the napkin by his plate on his lap. He squirms a little in his seat before reaching for his fork. It’s… cute.

“So Marcel, how long have you owned this place?”

He sits up a little straighter, and chews quickly. Of course, Louis asks him a question just as he’s got his mouth full.

“Sorry,” Marcel mumbles, wiping both ends of his mouth with the napkin in his lap.

“It’s family owned. It was my parents house, and now it’s mine,” he shrugs. “I’ve lived here my whole life, but only legally obtained it a few years ago.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that?”

“Oh, my erm, parents passed.” Marcel mumbles, his voice taking a deeper quality than Louis’ heard.

“Oh god.” Louis says, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Marcel says, pushing his glasses back up on his face. “Really. It’s been a while now.”

“What happened?” Louis doesn’t even know why he asks. Maybe because it’s given Marcel this… quality. It feels silly to call it human. Louis had seen his chipper exterior broken in his nervous, shaky hands, and the pout on his face when he’d walked in.

It’s more a feeling of solidarity—of being understood—that makes Louis press for more. He’s with someone else who knows loss. A different sort, but loss nonetheless.

“It was a plane crash.” Marcel shuffles again. Maybe another nervous tick. “It was just a little trip they took, and they, er, never came back. Took several months for them to find their bodies and declare them dead, which is why the legalities of this place were a total nightmare.”

Louis feels stunned. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, sounds unbelievable right?” Marcel says, playing with his lower lip. “One of those things you’re sure could never happen to you until, it erm. Does.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Marcel smiles. Louis gets the feeling that’s just what he always does.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Well first I was awful to you yesterday. And now here I’ve asked you to give me a second chance, and I’ve blown it by prodding for personal information and making you hash out what was probably the worst time of your life.”

Marcel actually laughs at that. This honking thing, that makes it hard for Louis to continue feeling guilty.

“What’s so funny?” Louis chuckles along with him.

“Just that you’re right. You’re a _terrible_ guest, and I have been nothing but hospitable to you.”

Louis would frown. He’d apologize for what feels like the millionth time, but the way Marcel is laughing makes it difficult for him not to laugh right along with him. Is he _teasing_?

Breakfast is actually… pleasant after that. Louis finds himself smiling and engaging a lot. He asks Marcel about some of the house’s history. He’s always been interested in the people who’ve come before him. Lucky for him, Marcel’s exactly the type of owner to have made a point of befriending every single one of his guests. Elderly guests, and a couple who actually had their first child in one of the rooms upstairs, several honeymooners, and even a few wary travellers, willing to splurge on something that felt a little more like home.

They laugh and Louis soaks in all his stories like a sponge. It’s the best he’s felt in a long time.

“What about you?” Marcel asks, fiddling with a curl that’s come loose. “What stories will I have to tell about you?”

“I’d appreciate if you skipped the part where I was a right arse.” Louis chuckles. “I’m still sorry about that.”

Marcel grins, “Yeah. You really were.”

He _is_ teasing and Louis finds he quite likes it.

“What happened anyway? Did you get dumped on the way here or something?”

Louis stiffens. Marcel, of course, had been joking. What kind of idiot would go to a bed and breakfast after being dumped after all?

Him. But Marcel doesn’t know that.

It must be written all over his face, because after a few seconds of silence Marcel whispers, “Oh my god.”

Louis fiddles with what’s left on his plate, and looks up at Marcel, despite every avoidant instinct he has. “This was um… supposed to be my honeymoon, yeah.”

Marcel looks devastated—far more affected than he should, for someone who knows so little of him. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”

This doesn’t seem to put Marcel at ease for a moment. Things settle between them and Louis can feel the air around them getting heavier by the second. That’s when Marcel interjects with the plot twist of the century.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“You _have_ one?” Louis asks, bewildered.

“I keep a pack at the desk for emergencies just like this one.”

Marcel looks at him very seriously, sitting at the edge of his seat, awaiting Louis’ answer.

“I would fucking _love_ a cigarette.”

“Let’s go.” Marcel pushes his seat back and leads Louis to the front porch. He leaves him a moment, presumably to gather the promised materials, and returns with a lighter with Darth Vader all over it. It’s the most ridiculous thing Louis has ever seen.

"Here you are,” Marcel says, handing off the pack and lighter. He takes the spot beside Louis on the porch swing and watches him place the flame to the end of his cigarette. Louis savors that first drag like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in _weeks_. It’s heavenly, and mildly troubling. He’ll quit again when he goes back home.

Louis hadn’t expected Marcel to join him. In fact, he barks a laugh at the sight of Marcel lighting up beside him. He must not understand why Louis thinks it’s funny, because he’s still eyeing the end of his cigarette with furrowed brows. He shouldn’t be surprised, honestly. This is Marcel’s secret stash after all. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s shocked, and… impressed by how well Marcel takes his first drag. No coughing or spluttering. He’s very steady.

Louis watches as he leans back against the porch swing, and pushes his glasses back up on his nose for the millionth time. He smiles.

“This is… surprising.” Louis says, breaking the now somber silence between them. It’s not altogether unpleasant, he just appreciates the solidarity of it enough to make some conversation.

“What is?”

“You… sitting out here smoking with me.” Louis chuckles. “I don’t know if you know this, but you really don’t look like the type.”

Marcel laughs again, that wild honk of his that Louis likes so much. “You don’t say?”

“How old is this particular pack?” Louis asks. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Actually I just replenished my stock a week ago,” Marcel grins, eyes sparkling.

“ _Really?_ Had another emergency just last week then?” Louis grins back.

“Nah,” he giggles. “Was just bored. I only share in cases of emergency.”

Louis can’t help but laugh maniacally at that. It’s all just so unbelievable. That he’s here at all, and with this incredibly unique person, sharing a smoke on the front porch.

“Can I ask you something?” Marcel starts, his cigarette hovering just in front of his lips.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis shrugs.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Again, Louis laughs. It feels good. Most everyone else has approached this topic with careful questions, prodding lightly, like he could break. This is the last person he’d expect to be so forward, but he _loves_ it. Needs it, almost. Something blatantly honest.

“That, my friend, is an excellent question.”

“And what’s the answer, then?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Marcel cackles, this time with a shake of his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m incredibly happy you’re here. Business has been terrible, lately, and honestly I’ve been dying for a little company. But this is the worst case of masochism I’ve ever seen. Going on your honeymoon alone. Who does that?”

Louis raises his hands on either side of his head. “Me. Guilty.”

“There has to be some reason. Come on.” Marcel jabs an elbow into Louis’ side, teasing.

Louis sighs, and smiles, but the heaviness of his situation washes over him again. “Honestly I told myself it was because I couldn’t bear to waste the money. Couldn’t get the money back for the venue, for all the food and cake for the reception, for all the suits and dresses and invitations and god, _all_ of it. But I could at least show up for a week long vacation.” Louis snorts, “Not gonna lie though, mate. Really wish I would’ve let him talk me into Fiji or some shit.”

Marcel laughs a little, but listens. He leans slightly in his seat, and fiddles with his hands, waiting for Louis to continue.

“But honestly, I think I went through with it because at least I could remove myself from the situation a bit. I could be miserable for a week _and_ an inconvenience to everyone I love. _Or_ I could be miserable in a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere and give everyone a break from dealing with me.”

“I’m sure they don’t think of you like that,” Marcel corrects, gently. “Everyone likes to be needed. If nothing else, I’m sure your friends and your family are happy to help you however they can.”

Louis shrugs, “Maybe. But I know it’s hard for them. They just don’t know what to say. I’m sure they think there’s some way they could have stopped it. They wish they could’ve seen it sooner and convinced me to stop the wedding. I don’t know. They just talk to me like they’re worried I’ll snap in half.”

“Or maybe they’re just trying to help you piece yourself back together.” Marcel reaches for Louis’ knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s hard to know what to say. But, if they’re being careful and considerate, it only means they love you and want to help.”

Louis hears him, but he’s a little distracted by the hand still resting on his knee. He looks up from his lap at Marcel and indulges him in a sad smile.

“Can I ask you what happened? To make you call the whole thing off?”

Louis tries for nonchalance, but winces at the memory. “Walked in for some wedding photos and found him making out with his best man.”

Marcel takes a very deep breath, wheezing a little.

Louis doesn’t know how to react. On the one hand, he wants to tell Marcel to hold off on that second cigarette. On the other, he wants to… hold his hand? Or thank him, obviously. He must just be feeling an incredible amount of gratitude.

“I just don’t get it,” Marcel starts. He looks up at Louis with big, sad eyes. His glasses make them seem bigger than they are. “You’re gorgeous, Louis. He’s an idiot.”

Louis doesn’t know what’s come over him. He doesn’t know when the heaviness of his heart started to feel more like swelling. His stomach has been in knots for weeks, but now it’s doing flips. Marcel says he’s gorgeous, and somehow Louis feels it. It’s the first time in a long time he’s felt like maybe he is special, if that’s something Marcel can see.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“ _You’re_ very kind,” Marcel says. “And funny. And humble. And just lovely.”

Louis chuckles, “Do I need to remind you of yesterday?”

Marcel rolls his pretty green eyes, and a dimple Louis can’t help but notice makes an appearance. “Everyone has shitty days. I just caught you on one of the worst. Trust me, you’re lovely. And you’ve already apologized for that like twelve times so I’m completely over it. You should be too.”

Louis smiles his thanks.

Maybe this week won’t be so bad after all.

 

Louis returns to his room later feeling lighter. Usually smoking his way through a pack has him feeling heavy with remorse. He’s scratched the itch he knows he shouldn’t, and typically he would spend hours wondering if it’s the guilt or the new craving that makes him feel worse. Today it’s like the smoke has puffed him up, inflated him into this new, airy being.

He falls back onto the mattress, trying to remember what he came up here for in the first place. Probably to shower, since his bath the evening before didn’t go according to plan.

Louis begins to strip his clothes off, taking his time and scrolling through his facebook feed between each article of clothing. That's what vacation’s for, innit? You can take as long as you want to do whatever you want.

What Louis didn't want was to see Greg hop on his timeline. He thought he'd put Niall in charge of complete and total erasure. He had been sure to lose his number, but apparently Niall hadn't thought of something like this.

The status update is… not _surprising._ It's just a little unexpected. Greg has never done well when things don't go according to plan. But that’s almost always something out of his control. He rarely stews over anything he caused. But it would appear he's not doing well— _especially_ if he's seeking council from his array of Facebook friends.

The status says: _Why am I the biggest fuck up of all time?_

It’s the dramatics that surprise Louis. He's known Greg to throw a tantrum but never publicly, and never in a way that almost requires other people to comfort him. Louis always did, but he never felt like he had to. The comments section is full of people answering exactly the way people do on Facebook—with comforting anecdotes like _you'll get through this_ and _pm me if you need to talk._

It's sad. Louis drops his phone on the bed beside him and keeps his eyes on the ground. He can't help but wonder what happened. If he and the other man had a falling out. Before he knows it his head is spinning again with thoughts of pity. It's irritating, actually. It's irritating that he feels _bad_ for Greg after what he did.

Louis defiantly pushes his things to the floor. He removes his pants and heads to the bathroom for the hot shower he deserves. Once he's under the shower head Louis lets out a long, deep breath.

Maybe he should have a wank. Something to help him relax, get his mind off of… the last person he had sex with. Damn. It may not help at all. May make things worse. Especially when he's assaulted again with the thought that Louis probably isn't the last person Greg slept with.

He's got to stop thinking himself into tailspins like this. Maybe he should just take a quick shower and call Niall?

He does cut his shower short—after ensuring every inch of him is clean—but he doesn't call Niall. He towels off and lies down in his bed. He doesn't bother with pants because _maybe_ that wank isn't out of the question. He hasn't had sex in weeks and to his dismay his cock had perked in interest at the thought.

Louis takes a deep breath and reminds himself he's free. A week ago he'd follow that up with a “whatever the fuck that means” but today it sort of helps. He can do or be whoever he wants. He can have a wank and think of who he'd _like_ to sleep with and feel no guilt.

If he could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be? Louis scans his brain for some celebrity that's caught his eye, or even just someone on the tube he'd taken a second glance at. He's drawing a blank so he starts with small details.

Strong, soft hands. The kind that would look as beautiful running their palms down his body as they would with a cigarette between two fingers. He palms himself a little, already feeling a little wound up.

He doesn't really see another body, though. He thinks of those hands and instead imagines what he'd like him to say. He imagines someone calling him lovely, and suddenly it's a little embarrassing how quickly he's hardened at the thought.

When was the last time someone complimented him like that?

Louis’ eyes shoot open, he sits straight up and looks down at his bulging cock and is filled with shame. Is he thinking of Marcel? Sweet, generous, hospitable Marcel just downstairs? _God,_ what is wrong with him? He meets someone who is absolutely wonderful to him and suddenly he wants to take him to bed.

He’s just so _sweet_ . And maybe that’s all it is. Maybe Louis’ mind wasn’t _really_ looking to drag Marcel into a sexual situation with him, maybe it was just trying to conjure up a lovely someone to bring him comfort. And he really is lovely.

Thankfully, he’s not as hard anymore, because at this point a wank would only make him feel worse. Louis pushes himself up and gets off the bed to find a clean pair of pants to wear. As he’s pulling them on, there’s a light knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Louis calls out. He’s sure Marcel can hear him through the door, but It would seem he hasn’t thought this through, because of course he hears him and the door begins to open. The last thing Louis needs is for Marcel to see his semi still poking at his pants, so he frantically reaches for a pillow.

Marcel peeks his head in and it seems instantaneous that his magnified eyes get even bigger and his cheeks are colored in crimson.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” he yelps out. Marcel shuts the door rapidly, with more force than he probably meant to.

Louis realizes a little too late that the pillow covering him probably just made Marcel think Louis invited him in while completely naked. He groans a little and reaches for his jeans—if he hurries maybe he can catch Marcel downstairs.

He throws a t-shirt on and bolts out the bedroom door, thumping down the stairs to find Marcel with a light rain jacket on, a hand on the front door.

“Hey, wait!” Louis says, maybe a tad too urgently.

Marcel looks up at him, the blush returning to his cheeks.

Louis frowns, “Hey, erm, did you need something?”

Marcel’s pink cheeks go darker, and his eyes dart to the floor. “It was nothing. I’m sorry I just walked in like that.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Louis steps off the last stair and approaches Marcel at the door, “I totally could’ve told you to wait a second. I wasn’t thinking, mate. I’m sorry.”

“I really shouldn’t have…” Marcel starts and stops, a hand nervously reaching for the nape of his neck. “I don’t know _what_ I was thinking, I just…”

“Where are you headed?” Louis asks.

“Oh, to the shops.” Marcel replies. He keeps his head ducked down, “I was going to ask if you, erm, had any preference for dinner?”  

“Are you expecting any other guests?”

Marcel brings a hand to his face and fiddles with his bottom lip. He shakes his head.

“Then… can we go out, actually? Give you a break from the cooking, and I can see more of the village?”

Marcel lifts his head to meet Louis’ eyes. He looks confused, maybe a little nervous, but Louis happens to find a dash of a sparkle in his eyes. Marcel nods then, “I’d really like that, actually. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Mind what? You tagging along?” Louis chuckles, “In case you haven’t noticed, I prefer the company, mate.”

Marcel grins then, dimples and all, and Louis feels punched in the gut with relief and a pinch of something else. Something he’s not sure he can identify yet.

  
Louis calls Niall shortly after Marcel’s left for the shops. He sits on the hardwood floor and runs his fingers along the edge of a rug and the phone rings so long, Louis thinks it may be a bad time. He’s bored, and has nearly given up on leaving a voicemail when Niall picks up on the seventh ring.

“Tommo!” Niall answers loudly. Louis smiles, remembering how his friend’s voice amplifies when he’s on the phone. The only other person he knows who does this is his mum.

“Hey Nialler, how’s it going?”

“Good!” Niall replies, “How are you, mate? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, actually I’m doing okay. Just chilling, and thought I’d give you a call.”

“And… you’re okay?” Niall asks. He seems skeptical, and suddenly Louis remembers why.

“Yeah, actually.” He says again, softer this time. “I really am.”

“Good,” Niall beams. “Some time away’s doing you good?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “I think it is. Was a proper mess yesterday, but today’s good. I’m good.”

“What happened yesterday?”

Louis tells him the whole story. He tells him that he realized everyone may have been right, and he tells him how pissed he was at everyone and everything. He tells him about Marcel and about how nice he is, and how interesting he is, and how much he loves the house, and that he’s getting dinner with Marcel later.

“I see,” Niall says. Louis may be imagining it, but it _sounds_ like Niall is smirking.

“What?”

“So, Marcel owns the place, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. Yes, he does.”

“And is there… anyone else there? Or is it just the two of you?”

“It’s just us.” Louis frowns. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason, Lou. He just seems nice. Cool. Or, eh, what’d you call him? Lovely?”

He’s teasing. Louis blushes, maybe he had mentioned Marcel one time too many to be considered normal.

“I mean, he is. Lovely.”

“I’m glad.” Niall’s grin, always so easily heard over the phone, seems hesitant now. He’s genuine, but Louis can tell there’s more. He can always tell. “Just, be careful, okay, Tommo?”

“Careful of what?”

“I just don’t want you to throw yourself into a situation that you may not be ready for. Just… he sounds lovely, Lou, but be fair to him. And to yourself, of course.”

Louis wants to protest. He wants to tell him he’s wrong, and that everything’s fine and normal. But a fleeting thought crosses his mind that he’s going to dinner with Marcel later, and there’s an honest to god flutter in his belly and he’s not used to that. He hasn’t experienced anything like that in a long time.

So he nods. “Yeah, Ni, I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Love you, Lou.”

“Love you too.”

As Louis hangs up the phone, he pauses a moment and feels the weight of it in his hand. It feels lethal, no matter how much it aided in comforting Louis just now. He supposes that’s really all Niall, and nothing to do with the actual device. His mind wanders to Greg and what he’d seen a few moments earlier, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He doesn’t need that in his life anymore. And maybe he doesn’t need Niall to forcibly remove him. It’s possible that Louis is ready to do that all on his own. Louis lies down, holding his phone high above his head. He opens facebook and types the first few letters of Greg’s name. He’s one of the first results. Louis taps it lightly and after a resigned breath, he clicks the unfriend button.

Louis tosses his phone aside, and rests his eyes. The next thing he knows, he’s startled awake by another knock on his door. He hadn’t actually meant to fall asleep, but Louis doesn’t feel any remorse as he rubs his eyes. He reaches for his phone to check the time and then realizes that he’s been asleep much longer than he thought.

At the sound of another knock, he hurriedly approaches to the door, hopelessly fixing his fringe before he opens it and finds Marcel on the other side with a soft smile and looking damn _adorable_ in his grey trousers, and what may be his nicest set of braces over the top of a fitted red button down shirt. He fiddles with his glasses, and his smile is replaced with a furrowed brow, and a confused frown.

“Hey, erm… sorry.” Marcel looks  more and more nervous the longer Louis stands there. He fiddles with his hands and ducks his head, “I just wondered, when you wanted to go?”

“Yeah, soon.” Louis nods encouragingly. He finds himself helpless to stop the way his eyes crinkle when Marcel’s eyes light up. He realizes then that Marcel may actually be _excited_. “I fell asleep. I’ll finish getting ready and then we’ll go, yeah?”

Marcel smiles again, eyes bright, “I’ll just be downstairs.”

“Perfect. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Louis waits for Marcel to start walking away before he shuts the door, but he’s a little delayed. Louis grins a little, and gives him a small wave as a cue. Marcel startles a little and waves back before he hurries down the hall and steps. Louis chuckles to himself and pushes the door shut.

When Louis makes his way downstairs, he hadn’t known what to expect. Marcel said he’d be waiting, but Louis hadn’t thought he meant by the door, glancing at his watch, a foot tapping impatiently. Louis wonders if he made time sensitive plans? Or if he’s just _that_ excited. Either idea makes Louis’ stomach do another involuntary flip.

“Sorry it took me so long.” Louis says about halfway down the steps.

Marcel looks up and beams at him. “You’re here!”

Louis chuckles, “Yep.”

“I got us a car.” Marcel admits, gesturing for Louis to pass through the door first. “I might have a glass of wine with dinner.”

Louis takes a few backward steps outside and waggles his eyebrows, “Getting wild tonight, then?”

Marcel’s cheeks turn a pretty pink as he turns to lock the door. “I mean, just a glass.”

“Then why get us a car?” Louis teases, grinning wide.

“You can never be too careful.” Marcel shrugs, a shy smile lingering on his lips.

The ride to the restaurant is quiet. Louis is more than a little aware of the driver, glancing in the rearview mirror at them every few seconds. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, and when he glances over at Marcel, hands folded in his lap Louis can see he’s not alone.

Louis wonders if it’s his fault. As soon as the car door had shut, Louis had been overtaken with nerves. His stomach aflutter and his mind whirring with what the evening had in store. Was this… a date? Dinner between friends? Two lonely souls keeping one another company? Perhaps he was giving the event too much weight. He had proposed they go out after all.

But Marcel had said yes. And Marcel had seemed _excited_.

It was a lot.

Louis looks up and out the window, taking a quiet breath. Is he ready for this?

They pull onto a gravel lot, and Louis thinks for a moment it must be the tires bouncing beneath them that’s making his heart hammer in his chest.

Marcel thanks the driver and pays him. He walks round the car and opens the door on Louis’ side. Louis blushes, he could have done that himself, but then Marcel extends a hand to him. Louis smiles and accepts, letting Marcel pull him out of the car and shut the door behind him, hand still held loosely in his grip.

It’s nice. His hand in Marcel’s. His grip is reassuring, but there’s also no pressure. Louis could absolutely let go if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

Marcel’s brought him to this old, rundown place. Louis thinks it’s a pub, and he sees he’s right by the crowd sat just at the bar. He looks around and feels himself begin to relax. This isn’t what he was expecting, but it’s better.

Marcel squeezes Louis’ hand one time before letting go, and Louis turns his head to look at him. Marcel keeps his gaze forward, using his now free hand to press at his hair, pushing a stray curl back in place. Louis wonders if he’ll ever see Marcel without any of the hair product, or even without the glasses. Maybe with tired eyes, smelling of sleep.

 _Snap out of it, Tommo._ Louis shakes his head quickly. _It’s just dinner._

Marcel is just so cute and he seems so _nervous_ , fiddling with his hands as he leads Louis to an empty table. Louis is just feeling inexplicably fond of him. That's all.

They slide into opposite ends of the booth. Louis is amazed and relieved to find Marcel settle in after that, leaning back against the booth and waving casually to the bartender, who smiles widely at the sight of them.

“Hey, mate!” the bartender calls, quickly approaching their table. “How are you?”

“Good, good!” Marcel awkwardly shuffles to the end of his seat, standing again to meet the bartender’s handshake with a friendly hug instead. He seems like a very content fellow. Happy, even. Louis almost envies him for his easy going nature, and for having all of Marcel’s attention at the moment.

He watches as they engage in easy conversation, Marcel receiving several affectionate shoulder pats, and beaming all the while.

“And who’ve you got with you?”

“Oh!” Marcel startles, turning to include Louis in the conversation. He tries not to be too offended that Marcel seems to have forgotten he was there. “This is Louis! He’s staying at the house on his own, so we thought we’d go out tonight!”

The man is all smiles, glancing from Marcel to Louis and back. “Yeah?”

Marcel must not understand his implication. He beams in Louis’ direction and says, “Yeah!”

Can a person die from their vital organs melting together? If they can, it’s all Marcel’s fault, because Louis’ insides are officially made of goo. He just smiles back.

The bartender coughs a little, bringing both of their attention back to him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Louis! I’m Ed. Marcel and I go way back.”

Louis nods, offering Ed a friendly handshake.

“Well, what’ll it be then?” he asks, smiling warmly.

Louis orders a pint for now, he still needs a moment to glance at the menu. Marcel asks for a glass of merlot and Ed chuckles, but nods before returning to the bar for their drinks.

“Red wine at a pub, huh? Isn’t that risky business?”

Marcel blushes, “I told you I was having a glass.”

“I mean, yes,” Louis grins. “But usually a place like this isn’t known for their wine selection.”

Marcel shrugs, eyes shimmering, “They keep the good stuff on hand just for me.”

“Oh, _do_ they?” Louis teases. “You didn’t tell me I was going out with a proper VIP!”

Marcel pauses a moment, gaze darting downwards. Louis can tell he’s smiling, and his cheeks _may_ be getting just a tad warmer.

Ed returns a moment later with their drinks and Louis realizes he hasn’t looked at the menu for even a second.

“Ready to order?” Ed asks. Marcel is ready, and as he orders Louis _really_ can’t be bothered to look away from him.

“I’ll just have the same.” Louis shrugs, feeling self conscious under Ed’s knowing gaze.

Is he really that obvious? He knows he’s all… squirmy, but he didn’t realize it was written all over his face.

Louis coughs and sits up a little straighter as Ed walks away. This isn’t a date. It can’t really be. Louis is supposed to be hopelessly heartbroken, and Marcel is just being _nice_ to him. That’s all it is.

This lovely person across from him knows pain and heartache. He understands. And he’s much further removed from it than Louis is. Well, at least in the actual space of time. Really, shouldn’t Louis be sulking more? Shouldn’t he be feeling the way he did only _yesterday_? Or is this all it took?

An invitation from someone who understands. Someone sweet, and kind. Someone who laughs at Louis’ jokes. Obviously he’s not in _love_ , but for the first time in weeks Louis feels like maybe he could be again. That maybe he shouldn’t write it off just yet. And that’s nothing short of a miracle.

“Do I have something on my face?” Marcel asks, brows furrowed.

Louis feels himself lean forward as he laughs, “No, sorry. Was just thinking.”

“Yeah?” Marcel prompts, a small smile on his face as he sips from his glass. “What about?”

Louis tries for nonchalance, but his heart beats a little harder in his chest. “I just wanted to thank you for inviting me out is all. I think if it weren’t for you, I’d have spent this whole vacation in bed.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Marcel smirks. “I could use a week in bed.”

The image that conjures in Louis’ mind is definitely _not_ appropriate in this context. He shakes it off easily. “Yeah, well. I’ve spent enough time there the last few weeks that another would just be pathetic.”

Marcel actually rolls his eyes at that, “Well, you’re welcome. But you’re allowed to be pathetic, you know.”

“I know.” Louis smiles, “But thanks for giving me the option not to be. I appreciate it a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Marcel replies, softly. He sips his wine and Louis notices the way his lips purse after he’s swallowed.

“So you come here a lot, then?” Louis asks. He nearly pulls an unamused face at himself, embarrassed that he’d change the subject with a question like that. Why is his brain betraying him like this? This isn’t a fucking rom com.

Marcel doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze falling to the kitchen door behind Louis. Someone must have emerged with food.

“Yeah,” Marcel admits. “Ed’s a good friend of mine. His family owns the place, so the two of us used to spend literally every spare moment here.”

“Yeah? How do you know Ed?”

“Family friend,” Marcel shrugs. “We grew up together. These days he still spends all his time here, managing the business. I only really get to see him if I come visit.”

“So you do often?”

“As often as I can,” Marcel shrugs. “He’s usually too busy to talk though. So I drink too much wine at the bar.”

“That sounds lonely,” Louis remarks. Marcel’s answering gaze is filled with a sadness Louis hadn’t meant to put there. Louis takes a drink of his pint and lets the moment sit a second.

“It is,” Marcel admits, drinking from his nearly empty wine glass. So much for a glass with dinner.

“Well, you’re not alone now, are you?” Louis says.

The smile that passes through Marcel’s face is short, but sincere. “No, I’m not.”

Their dinner arrives shortly after that, and Louis decides through a mouthful of chips that now is the perfect time to ask Marcel about a million questions. He asks for his favorite color (blue), his favorite movie (The _second_ Lord of the Rings movie), and his favorite song (Fleetwood Mac’s entire discography—it doesn’t really count as an answer, but Louis lets him have it because he’s cute).

Every minute, Louis’ more sure than before that this is special. That maybe a part of him needs this—needs Marcel. And when Marcel returns his fond eyes with good measure, Louis thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , Marcel needs him too.

It’s all fun and games until Marcel’s finished his second glass of Merlot and has barely touched his dinner. Louis decides to stop with the questions, letting Marcel actually eat his food. He hopes it doesn’t sober him up _too_ much. So far giggly, tipsy Marcel is even cuter than Marcel with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. What Louis hadn’t anticipated, was for the questions to be turned back at him.

Marcel’s questions are different, though—less surfacey. He starts with Louis’ favorite childhood memory, and sends Louis into a detailed story about that time he stuck gum in his sister’s hair and how she retaliated by coercing some of her friends to tie Louis to a tree with jump rope. He didn’t have much muscle mass at eight, and it turns out grade school kids in large numbers were much stronger than he was.

Marcel’s laugh is this squawk of a thing, and every time it happens it’s the new best moment of Louis’ life. So several embarrassing stories later, he finds he’s not embarrassed at all. Just full and happy.

“Another drink, lads?” a voice from beside the table says.

Louis hadn’t even noticed the bubble that had formed around them, but judging by the way Marcel jumps a little in his seat and darts his head to Ed, he’d say he’s not the only one.

Marcel shakes his head, “Oh, erm, no. I’m fine. Do you want another, Lou?”

Louis shakes his head, “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Well, just holler if you need me then.” Ed winks and Marcel seems sufficiently flustered at that.

As soon as he’s out of earshot Louis cocks an eyebrow, turning his full attention back to Marcel. “What’s his deal anyway? Why does he seem so smug?”

Marcel’s eyes bulge a little, every nervous tick Louis’ noticed he has coming in full force.

“Oh he’s just—” Marcel starts, stammering a bit. “He’s teasing me is all.”

“Why, though?” Louis presses. He thinks he knows why but… well, he wants to hear it straight from the man’s mouth. Is it cruel? Maybe. Is it necessary? Obviously. No matter how well he’s suddenly coping, Louis’ ego could use a little stroking.

“Well, I just.” Marcel fiddles with his fingers, folding and unfolding his hands on the table. “I don’t usually bring people here, is all. I think Ed thinks…”

Marcel stops at that, eyes wide. Louis smiles soft, both sufficiently boosted, and extremely flattered.

“Thanks, Marcel.” Louis starts. “Thank you for bringing me here and sharing this with me.”

Marcel seems to calm a little at that. When he unfolds his hands he sets his arms on the table in front of him, a hand resting right in reach. Louis watches carefully just out of the corner of his eye as Marcel starts to tap against the table.

“Thanks for coming with me.” Marcel smiles warmly, cheeks tinged pink for the millionth time. “Honestly, this has been really nice.”

“Good thing you’ve got the whole week with me, then.” Louis says, blithely. “You’ll have to have a few other lovely evenings with me. Show me your other favorite places.”

Marcel’s fingers stop drumming the table for a moment and Louis considers reaching for his hand. He’s actually about to when Marcel pulls his hand into his lap and mutters, “Yeah, good thing.”

“Hey, now.” Louis says softly, “What’s with the sad eyes?”

Marcel avoids Louis’ gaze. Louis can tell he’s biting at his lower lip, and when he does look up—still not quite reaching Louis’ eyes—he admits with a small pout, “I just remembered you’ll leave soon, is all.”

“Not soon!” Louis reacts too quickly. “I’ve only just got here!”

“Yeah,” Marcel shrugs. He tries for a smile, but Louis can see it’s forced. And he understands. A week isn’t long enough for what’s happening here. Louis already feels this closeness with Marcel. The kind that he’d like a few months to settle into. A week isn’t enough.

But a week is what they have, and this evening has given them a lovely start.

“Let’s just… take it a day at a time, yeah?” Louis starts. “I, um.”

He sighs, but his belly does a backflip as he considers what it is he’d like to say. Marcel is leaning slightly against the table in front of him, waiting and focused on Louis’ next words.

“I really like you,” Louis admits. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees Marcel’s own expression soften.

“I like you, too,” he says softly.

“So for now, this is great. And erm, I know. I know that you get left behind a lot. And I know that I won’t be the exception to that.”

Marcel’s face falls at that, and Louis shakes his head, letting an open palm rest on the table, just in Marcel’s reach. “But I really think that, erm… it won’t be a goodbye, okay? It’ll be until next time. Because I mean, I’ll definitely have to at least go back for some more luggage at some point.”

Marcel sighs, relieved. “I mean, I do have a washing machine. And shops.”

Louis laughs. Marcel seems to realize then how eager he’d sounded, and he drags a hand across his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t just…” Marcel hesitates. “I mean, I’m just… I’m excited. I thought that maybe I wasn’t alone in like… liking you. Obviously not, of course other people like _you_. I just mean that I hoped you liked me, and um—” Marcel stops. He takes a deep breath. Louis watches as he centers himself and shakes his head.

“I’m getting ahead of myself and I feel like I should just… ask you. Are you like… are you okay? This is a lot, even for me and with everything, I feel like I shouldn’t just _ignore_ your circumstances currently and—”

Louis shakes his head and finally reaches for Marcel’s hand. Marcel visibly relaxes at the touch and let’s Louis grip his hand tight.

“I mean, you’re right that we shouldn’t just ignore… what’s happened. I still have some, erm… healing to do I guess. But like I said, I want to just. Enjoy this. I enjoy you and I hope you enjoy me too and for now that’s… more than enough. It’s wonderful, even.”

Marcel looks at him with something like adoration, and Louis is dizzy with it.

“Yeah,” Marcel nods. “I would really like that.”

  
They don’t stay long after that. Marcel calls for a car and Louis gets away with holding Marcel’s hand up until he opens the door for him to slide in first. The ride home is as quiet as the ride to the pub, except it’s much more comfortable. Louis feels peaceful in a way he didn’t expect.

When they pull in Louis glances at Marcel and giggles a little. “I feel like I should walk you to the door.”

Marcel laughs with him and opens the door on his side, holding it open for Louis to follow him out. “That would be a little silly, since you’d have to follow me in.”

Louis is helpless to stop the smile that’s spread across his face. “Yeah, well. Just know that I’d like to.”

“Or I could?” Marcel suggests. “We can walk inside, and I’ll walk you to your door. How’s that?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he nods and follows Marcel up the porch steps. They’re quiet all the way up the stairs, hand in hand and as side by side as they can be on the thin staircase. As Louis trails just slightly behind Marcel he wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. He feels the butterflies in his tummy and unconsciously rests a hand on it, trying to calm them down.

They’re in front of Louis’ bedroom door before he’s found any success in calming down. Marcel turns to face him and Louis searches his face a moment. Judging by the place Marcel’s fixed his gaze, he thinks they’re on exactly the same page.

“Is this goodnight, then?” Louis prompts, the words pulling his face closer to Marcel’s.

“Yeah,” Marcel whispers. “Goodnight.”

The word barely leaves his mouth before Marcel’s lips graze Louis’. He hesitates, and Louis doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them a second later he finds Marcel’s staring straight back. Louis smiles for a moment before closing the distance. He kisses Marcel softly and hopes he can feel the silent promise in it. This goodnight kiss is the first of a long string of until-next-times. Louis is sure of it. And when he pulls away, he thinks Marcel feels the same. He licks his lips, and goes in for one more, just a peck at the corner of Louis’ mouth.

“Goodnight, Lou,” he whispers again with a smile.

Louis’ eyes are dancing when he says the same back, walking backwards into his bedroom. He leans against the door for a second as he watches Marcel head for the stairs. As soon as he’s out of sight, Louis shuts the door behind him and leans against it, sliding to the floor.

When he takes his next breath, it’s an audible sigh—the kind you can’t suppress just after you’ve kissed someone. Someone unbelievably sweet who _likes_ you.

He knows they’ve said goodnight, but Louis’ so wired, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to sleep now. He feels like screaming and jumping the way he did the first time his mum took him to see _Spiderman_.

Louis glances at the clock and laughs. It’s barely half eight. It’s no wonder he’s not actually tired. Especially after his accidental nap earlier.

He thinks for barely a second that it’s too soon to see Marcel again before he’s already running down the stairs.

He finds Marcel sat in the living room with his feet pulled up. He’s changed into some checkered pajama pants and a white t-shirt and Louis thinks he’s even more beautiful than before.

Marcel looks confused when he sees Louis fall easily in the spot beside him.

“I didn’t know it was so early. You’ll just have to walk me to my room again later.” Louis winks at him, and Marcel laughs.

“It’d be my pleasure, then,” he says.

“Such wonderful customer service,” Louis teases.

“Only the best for you, Lou,” Marcel returns.

Louis smiles and settles into Marcel’s side. He spends the next hour explaining to Marcel why each channel is unsuitable for their evening. Louis doesn’t actually expect him to, but he changes it every time with another giggle. It’s fun, and it’s easy, and Louis finds himself hoping every until-next-time is so short lived.

As Marcel drapes an arm over Louis’ shoulders, he thinks it will be. At the very least, he knows everything will be okay. Good, even, if this place, and this boy having anything to do with it.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you enjoyed, I'd love a good comment and kudos. :) Or you can give my [fic post](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com/post/163961134469/perfect-sky-by-haloeverlasting-deep-deep-down) a reblog! Another thanks to Jacky for the beautiful photoset she made. Click the link to go see that at the very least! <3
> 
> See you next time! :)


End file.
